


may my heart always be open to little birds

by witching



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Arguing, Banter, Dancing, Denial of Feelings, First Kiss, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Party, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 23:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21346750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: "thirteen-year-olds are the meanest people in the world. they terrify me to this day. [...] eighth graders will make fun of you, but in an accurate way. they will get to the thing that you don't like about you. they don't even need to look at you for long." - john mulaneyor: the one where adam has a bar mitzvah and four teenagers have to knock some sense into two immortal beings in denial.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 386





	may my heart always be open to little birds

_may my heart always be open to little_   
_birds who are the secrets of living _   
_whatever they sing is better than to know _   
_and if men should not hear them men are old_

_may my mind stroll about hungry_   
_and fearless and thirsty and supple _   
_and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong _   
_for whenever men are right they are not young_

_and may myself do nothing usefully_   
_and love yourself so more than truly _   
_there’s never been quite such a fool who could fail _   
_pulling all the sky over him with one smile_

_ // ee cummings _

* * *

When Adam Young turned thirteen, he decided he wanted to be bar mitzvahed, despite the fact that both of his parents were respectable Anglican Protestants, and even then they only practiced religion in the same way a child practices the recorder. They acquiesced to his whim with surprisingly little fight, especially considering the size of the event he was hoping to put on. 

His preliminary outline for the party included a fireworks show, a petting zoo, and a chocolate fountain for each guest engraved with their name. Adam may have annulled _ most _of his antichrist powers when the whole Armageddon business went down, but he was no fool; among other things, he had ensured that money would never be an issue for the Young family. Even so, he was meant to be graduating into adulthood, so he pruned his plans until he was left with a party that even his parents thought reasonable.

Then he did something that only Adam Young would do: he invited two strange men that he had met only once, though he wouldn’t tell his parents exactly where. He said something about a summer camp enrichment class, and Arthur had a persistent thought in the back of his mind that kept escaping him like a slippery bar of soap. If he had caught it, he would have realized that Adam had never been to summer camp, but as it was, he simply accepted the boy’s guest list and sent out the invitations.

When an envelope arrived at the bookshop addressed to both Aziraphale and Crowley, together and by name, they were confused at first. Then confusion became bewilderment which became indecision which became anxiety which culminated in a highly unsettled demon chain-smoking in Aziraphale’s back room against the angel’s loud and repeated protests. Crowley hadn’t smoked since the 70s, but he nervously cited an adage about desperate times between drags of his cigarette, and Aziraphale let it go eventually.

“I don’t want to go to the antichrist’s bar mitzvah,” was the conclusion of Crowley’s hours of pacing and thinking out loud. He flung himself onto the worn sofa and flicked the butt of his cigarette into the air, where it conveniently blinked out of existence; he hated the lingering waste. “I don’t even like _ saying _‘the antichrist’s bar mitzvah’. It sounds like a shitty D-list film.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the demon’s dramatics, but nodded in agreement. “That’s neither here nor there,” he said diplomatically, “but I will say I don’t fancy the idea of attending any more than you.”

“So we don’t go,” Crowley declared, only a hint of a question in his voice.

The words had hardly left his mouth when the doorbell rang, bravely overcoming the fact that it did not exist, because Aziraphale made it a point not to have a doorbell. He preferred not to be notified when someone was at his door – it was bad enough to have people coming in when the shop was open; the last thing he needed was another incessant noise he’d have to put effort into ignoring when it was closed. 

Nevertheless, the bell was ringing now, many times in a row, making it very clear that whoever was at the door was not leaving unacknowledged. Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged an astonished look and stood in sync with each other, moving together to answer the door. Their bewilderment only intensified when they beheld the striking and familiar face of Adam Young in front of them.

“Speak of the devil,” Crowley muttered under his breath.

Aziraphale tried his best not to laugh at the demon’s comment, which resulted in a sort of half-breathed huff of a chuckle that he thought he could feasibly pass off as a cough. He cleared his throat, schooling his face into a neutral mask to hide both his amusement and his disquietude, and then he tried to speak, only to be quickly cut off by the teenager on his doorstep.

“I wish you would come to my party,” he said simply. It didn’t appear that he was upset with them or trying to persuade them; he was merely stating a fact. “I’d really like you to be there.”

Aziraphale and Crowley turned to each other and had a brief conversation using only their facial muscles. A jump of Crowley’s eyebrow asked _ What do we do? _ and Aziraphale’s lips turned down to say _ I don’t know. _ Crowley furrowed his brow deeply: _ You’re supposed to know everything. _ Aziraphale rolled his eyes by way of a _ Really now, don’t start. _ and Crowley’s cheek twitched in reply, protesting _ I’m not starting anything. _ The slightest wrinkle of the angel’s nose said _ Well, you’re certainly not being helpful. _ and Crowley had to resist the urge to stick out his tongue as his narrowed eyes retorted _ Neither are you. _

Realizing they were getting nowhere, they turned back to Adam. He looked up at them, his expression still miraculously blank, and a beat of silence hung thickly in the air like a viscous fluid slowly building up the mass to form a drip before the two beings began tripping over themselves to come up with an excuse on the fly.

“I don’t know if –”

“Have to check the calendar –”

“Busy, busy men, we are –”

“Yes, quite –”

“Always something on the agenda –”

“Though not always together, you know –”

“Don’t know why you have to specify that, angel –”

“I just don’t want to give the boy the idea that we’re _ codependent _–”

“Right, of course, we’ve got separate lives with separate plans, see, and we’re probably both unavailable that day, for two separate and unrelated reasons.”

A flicker of emotion ran across Adam’s face, something between mirth and concern, and then it was gone, replaced by a look that seemed to know too much. “You don't have to come to the services,” he said calmly, “it'll be boring. But you should come to the party, I think you'd like it.”

And then he turned and walked away, just as suddenly as he’d arrived, and they were left gaping in the doorway. After a long stunned silence, Crowley inhaled sharply and turned to Aziraphale with wide eyes.

"Is it just me, or did that sound like a threat?" He closed the door and pulled another cigarette from behind his ear, lighting it with a thought halfway to his mouth. 

Aziraphale let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging, and started toward the back room again. "I wouldn't necessarily call it a threat," he fretted. "I don't know what it was."

Brushing a stray piece of hair behind his ear, returning his sunglasses to his face, Crowley barked out a bitter laugh. "Was a _ warning, _ angel. He _ really wants us there, _ and we all know what he could do to us if he doesn't get what he wants."

"I don't know about all that," Aziraphale said uncertainly, wringing his hands. "Do you think he would do something? To us, I mean."

"Can't be sure, can we?" Crowley gestured vaguely, once again flinging himself onto the sofa. "He isn't _ evil, _ we know that much, but he's liable to be a bit petty and vengeful. Comes with the territory, I reckon."

"The territory of being the antichrist?"

"The territory of being a kid."

"Oh," said Aziraphale, frowning thoughtfully. "So what do we do?"

Crowley shrugged, crossing his legs inelegantly. "Dunno," he answered. "The way I see it, we either go to the thing, or we leave the country and change our names and hope he never finds us."

Aziraphale chewed on his lip, wanting very badly to roll his eyes and chide Crowley for his dramatics, but at the same time just a tad nervous that he was right. "How do you figure the odds of him finding us, if we do that?" he asked, if only to have something to say.

"About ninety-seven percent," the demon replied confidently.

"Guess we'd better go, then."

"Yeah. Guess we'd better go."

The gears kept turning in Crowley's head in the background of their conversation even after they changed the subject, but he was unable to come up with a good reason to wriggle out of the party or an effective way to do so. He told the angel as much a few hours after the fact, just to keep him in the loop, and Aziraphale sighed and nodded in resignation. So it was settled, and they wrote the date down in their respective calendars and blissfully forgot about it.

That is, they forgot right up until the day before the event, when Crowley showed up at the bookshop in a state of near-panic over what to wear. Not that Aziraphale could help much in that department, but Crowley appreciated his presence and accepted it as moral support while he worked out his wardrobe woes.

He fell asleep on the angel's couch in the wee hours of the morning, his mouth hanging open and his cheek smushed against the cushion. Aziraphale went upstairs, ostensibly to figure out his own outfit for the event; the fact that it mitigated the temptation to simply watch Crowley sleep was just icing. He settled on a suit that wouldn't match too closely with the one that Crowley had chosen, though he wouldn't admit to making a _ point _ of not matching. He certainly wouldn't admit to agonizing over it until the sun peeked over the horizon.

In spite of the effort that the angel had absolutely _ not _ expended to prevent it, the pair made quite a picture arriving together at the banquet hall. The deep emerald of Crowley's suit complemented Aziraphale's eyes; the gold details played off the angel's jewelry; it appeared to all the other guests to be a very tidily coordinated endeavor.

Crowley tugged at his own sleeve nervously and looked around the room before stopping abruptly, grabbing Aziraphale's arm, and making a beeline toward where Adam stood with his friends.

"If we say hello now, we can get away with leaving earlier," the demon muttered from the corner of his mouth. 

Aziraphale didn't respond, simply put on a pleasant smile as they approached the kids. "Mazal tov, Adam," he said warmly, pulling an envelope from his pocket and pressing it gently into the boy's hand. "What a lovely reception you've pulled together."

Crowley nodded, his gaze flitting about and insistently avoiding Adam's face. "Yeah, it's lovely," he said absently. "Erm. L'chaim." 

Adam broke into a grin that seemed to warm the whole building. "I knew you'd come. I just knew it."

"Well. Not much choice, was there?" Crowley mumbled under his breath, then uttered a nearly inaudible "Ouch" as Aziraphale stepped on his foot.

"What he _ means _ is of _ course _ we came. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Wait a minute," a voice piped up, and all eyes turned to Brian, who was looking thoroughly puzzled. "Who _ are _ these guys?"

"They're friends," Adam answered. "You remember them, from the – you know."

"Oh," said Brian, and then realization dawned. _ "Oh. _ Yeah. Alright. But why are they here?"

"Just thought they'd be fun to have around, mostly," Adam said with a shrug, speaking as if the pair in question were not in fact standing right in front of him. "They're really old, you know. Probably have some good stories."

"Actually, being old doesn't necessarily mean they've done anything interesting."

"Wensley's right. I mean, we're young and we do more interesting stuff than any old person. All the old people I know are boring."

"Nuh-uh, Pep, your mum's the coolest person in the world."

"I didn't mean my mum. Obviously, my mum's cool. I mean other old people, like your dad."

Adam considered this for a brief second, then nodded his agreement. "S'pose you're right," he said. "My dad's pretty boring. What about you?" He turned to address the angel and demon again. "Are you boring?"

"I should hope not," Aziraphale said primly. "I hardly think owning one of the largest private collections of rare books in the world qualifies as boring."

The kids looked at him with narrowed eyes, saying nothing. A vague flash of interest crossed Wensley's face, but he didn't voice it, if only for the fact that he knew on objective principle that it was a ridiculously dorky thing to say. There was a long, awkward pause wherein Aziraphale expected awe and wonder and received four blank stares, and then Crowley stepped in.

"I work for the Devil," he offered up with a practiced nonchalance, and then he found himself in the unfortunate circumstance of being the center of four teenagers' attentions for a full forty-five minutes. 

While they grilled the demon about every aspect of his life, Aziraphale used the opportunity to take a look around, check out the drinks situation, and desperately avoid introducing himself to anyone he hadn't met before. It took him a while, but he managed to strike up a conversation with Anathema, who seemed to be the only person there who knew the value of a very old book. 

"Do you have horns?" Brian was bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet.

"Nope," Crowley deadpanned, blessing himself internally for jumping so quickly to save Aziraphale from embarrassment. "Just wings. And scales, sometimes. And the eyes."

"What eyes?" Wensley cocked his head at an angle, trying to see past the demon's dark glasses.

"Oh, these ones," Crowley replied smugly, tilting the glasses down the bridge of his nose just enough to give the kids the quickest flash of his bright yellow eyes.

"Wow."

"Are those real?"

"They can't be real. People can't have snake eyes."

"Actually, he's not a person, really."

"Good point, Wensley," Adam nodded. "Pep, rebuttal?"

"Ugh. Withdrawn."

Brian and Wensley both beamed, feeling victorious, and then Brian's face lit up even further as he turned to Crowley with more questions. "My dad said that demons torture people in Hell to punish them for their sins. Do you torture people?"

"I prefer not to."

Brian frowned at that, stayed quiet and thought a moment before continuing his bombardment. "Do you live in Hell?" 

"No," Crowley sighed. "I live in London."

_ "Adam," _ Pepper whined. "You said they weren't boring."

Adam shook his head helplessly. "How was I supposed to know? They’re an angel and a demon! They helped us save the world! Known each other for six thousand years, thought they might have _ something _ entertaining to say. Guess I was wrong," he shrugged.

His eyes widening, Wensley clasped his hands together in excitement. "Six thousand years? D'you know any cool history guys?"

Crowley's lip curled up in a sneer. "Nobody in history was as cool as you'd like to think," he muttered. 

"Did you know Julius Caesar?" Adam asked.

"Did you know Napoleon?" Brian practically shouted. 

"Did you know Joan of Arc?" Pepper spoke with a scathing skepticism.

"Did you know Galileo?" Wensley bounced on the balls of his feet.

"Stop, please," Crowley groaned, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I've known lots of people. They were all just people. They're all dead now. Any other questions?"

"Are you married?"

The question dropped like a lead weight from Wensleydale's lips, earning him a confounded stare from all three of his friends, as well as a choked-off gasp from the demon. Unfortunately for Crowley, his reflexes betrayed him as his gaze flew instantly over to where Aziraphale stood against the opposite wall. The kids nearly didn't notice, what with talking over each other to mock Wensley for asking the question, but they wanted an answer; when they got past the teasing and turned expectantly toward Crowley, he was still staring at the angel.

"Well?" Adam piped up, calling the demon's attention. "Are you?"

"No," Crowley answered in a heartbeat, tearing his eyes away to look back toward the kids. "Nope. We're friends."

Adam laughed out loud, bold and unrelenting. "You and him? That’s rich."

Shifting his feet, Crowley made a point to stare at the ground to hide his burning face. He had made an assumption, but he realized now that the question was referring to just himself, not the two of them as an entity. “Oh. You just… you meant me. Just me. Er, no, I’m not. M'a demon. Not my style."

“You’re a goner,” Adam said giddily, looking between Crowley and Aziraphale several times. “Marrying him is totally your style.”

“No, it’s not,” Crowley replied testily.

"You can’t lie to me," Adam chided him. “It’s not nice.”

"Well. Neither is using your weird superpowers to read my mind. If I want to lie, that's my prerogative."

"You don't actually need to have superpowers to tell you're lying."

"Wensley's right," Brian agreed. "You're just awful at it."

Crowley scowled deeply, his brow wrinkled. "I don't have to talk about this with you lot," he said defensively. "You're a bunch of kids. What do you know?"

"I know you _ like _him," Adam retorted, tilting his head in the direction of the angel. "Why’re you so tetchy about it?"

"Because there's no _ it _ to be tetchy about," the demon snapped, "and I would appreciate it if you would stop reminding me."

"You're an idiot." All eyes turned to Pepper as she rolled her eyes heavily at Crowley. "Really. I've met smarter sandwiches."

"I don't know what you mean," Crowley said stiffly.

Pepper glared at him, her stare harsh enough to set fire to something. "You’re so busy being a big baby that you can’t see the way he looks at you," she said bluntly. "Honestly, you try to hope in this world that things get better when you grow up, but you're like a million years old and you're still such a _ boy." _

"I am not," Crowley stated firmly, putting a Herculean effort into keeping his tone even and unaffected. "He doesn't – he doesn't look at me any way."

"Does too," Pepper argued, sticking out her tongue at him. "Scaredy-cat."

That was the breaking point for the demon. He blew out a long-suffering sigh, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Good talk, guys," he muttered before turning on his heel and walking away.

He wouldn’t admit that the kids were right, not to them or to himself, but he felt a rare kind of determination rising up inside him in response to their conversation. Crowley was prideful enough that he needed to prove that he wasn’t afraid of whatever it was between him and Aziraphale, even in spite of his insistence that it was nothing at all. No matter how silly it was, he couldn’t let a child call him a scaredy-cat and just take it lying down. 

Across the room, Aziraphale and Anathema were just getting into a thrilling discussion on woodblock printing when Crowley popped up and established a tight grip on Aziraphale’s bicep, pulling his attention instantly. 

“I need you,” he hissed in the angel’s ear. "They're like vultures. We're going to die here."

Aziraphale looked at him, directing a pointed glance toward the demon's fingertips digging painfully into his arm, and smiled. "I don't think it's all that grave, my dear boy. They're just curious."

"But I can't lie to them!" Crowley replied frantically. "Adam can _ tell _ when I'm _ lying. _ Do you know how horrifying that is?"

"I daresay I can tell when you're lying," the angel said with a frown.

"Doubtful. I'm very good at it." Crowley cast a quick look at Anathema, as if only now realizing her presence, and then lowered his voice further. "He doesn't even figure me out, he just _ knows. _ I don't like it."

Worrying his lip with his teeth, Aziraphale blinked down at the demon, unsure what to say. "Well. What do you want me to do about it?"

Crowley didn't miss a beat before answering, "Come dance with me."

"I – I don't – how is that helpful?" Aziraphale stammered, his voice rising an octave and his face heating up. 

"They can't harass me if I'm dancing, and I'm certainly not going to do it alone," Crowley explained, as if it should have been obvious. He paused, pouting out his lower lip, and squeezed the angel's arm a bit harder. "Please?"

And, well. Aziraphale was six thousand years old and he had survived the actual end of the world, but nothing could have prepared him for that. He was utterly powerless against it, unable to even attempt to argue. He just gave a jerky nod of his head and then nearly passed out at the sight of the demon's beaming face just before he was dragged toward the dance floor. 

The music was something upbeat and bubbly, for which Aziraphale was eternally grateful. He wasn't a great dancer at the best of times, but he was loathe to imagine how clumsy he might become if he had to _ touch _ Crowley, to be _ close _ to him. They bounced and tapped their feet, wiggled and waved, putting very little effort into the technique of it all, not expending enough energy to break a sweat.

When Crowley was certain that the kids had seen them and then fully moved onto another source of entertainment, he paused and laid a hand on the angel's shoulder. "You're a lifesaver," he said fervently. "Thanks, angel. I owe you one."

Aziraphale didn't quite know what to say. The dancing had been unexpected, and it had ended just as abruptly, and he didn't know if he should go on as if it hadn’t happened or tell Crowley off for putting him in that position or beg him to stay and keep dancing with him. "Not at all, my dear," he said softly. "It was my pleasure."

Crowley smiled at him, grabbed his hand like it was natural and turned to lead him away from the dance floor. "You hungry? Buffet looks good."

"We don't have to stop," the angel blurted out, his face immediately heating up when he realized what he had said. "Er. That is, if you don't want – I mean. Erm."

And perhaps it was fate, or happenstance, or a subconscious effort on one or both of their parts, but at that moment, the music changed. The song was slow and old, something comfortable and familiar to them, something they'd maybe danced to a few times before, though never together, and only if they were very, very drunk.

They were not very drunk now, but they were already on the dance floor, and that was reason enough. Without thinking, Crowley stepped closer, and Aziraphale's hands settled on his waist as if by reflex. The demon responded by placing his own hands on Aziraphale's shoulders, a safe and easy move, and then they were dancing again. Almost. They were certainly moving together, at any rate.

"Sorry for being a downer," Crowley muttered after a long quiet, looking down and away. "Just – not great with kids. Threw me off."

"What are you talking about? You love children."

“Yeah, the little ones. When they reach ten years old, they start to know too much. _ Especially _these ones,” he added, nervously glancing over to where the four children were huddled together in a formation that rather brought witch covens to mind. 

Following his gaze, Aziraphale gave a small and gentle smile, if only because he knew Crowley couldn’t see his face. All things considered, he was having a good time. It had been a while since the last time he had been invited to a proper party, and even longer since he’d attended one with Crowley. It had been ages since the last time he had danced, and eons since the last time he had danced with Crowley. And now, his eyes focusing back to the demon’s face, something warm and familiar settled into his chest like a piece falling into place.

Aziraphale had long been in the habit of quashing feelings like this, to avoid examining where they stemmed from, but he felt it in full force now. He collected himself just a bit, cleared his throat. “I, er, wasn’t aware you had something against knowledge,” he said quietly, a barely-there teasing lilt to his voice. 

Crowley looked up at him. “Oh, come off it, angel. You know that’s not what I meant.” He sighed, frowning deeply. “I don’t mind that they _ know _ things. They just – well, it’s not their fault. There’s a lot to know about me, and I don’t. Well. You know.”

“I’m not sure I do,” the angel murmured pensively. 

“I just mean – I prefer to keep some things private, and I don’t fancy a bunch of kids meddling in my personal business.”

“What personal business would that be?”

Crowley frowned, chewing on the inside of his cheek, pursing his lips. “Nothing. You wouldn't understand,” he mumbled. “When can we go?”

"You seemed to be doing alright for a moment there,” the angel mused, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "It almost seemed as if you were having a good time."

“Maybe I was," Crowley replied, "but now I'd like to leave.”

Aziraphale pulled his watch out of his pocket. “Well, we’ve been here over an hour. It wouldn’t be any major social misstep if we went home.”

“Great,” Crowley said, taking his hands off Aziraphale's shoulders and turning abruptly. Then he froze for a moment, cocked his head to the side and studied the angel. “Do _ you _ want to stay?”

“No, no, I’m more than happy to go,” Aziraphale replied warmly, “if that’s what you want. Anyway, it's not much fun to be here with you like this."

"Like what?" Crowley asked, nearly biting the words out as he put his hands on his hips and glared at the angel through narrowed eyes.

"Anxious, you know. Uncomfortable."

Crowley bit his lip hard, turning his head away to hide his hurt. "Well, I'm sorry to ruin your fun. You can stay here without me, if you'd prefer."

"No, of course not. I just – you're – I didn't mean it like that," Aziraphale said wretchedly, wringing his hands. "I just meant – well, I don't like to see you upset, my dear, that's all."

"Right." Crowley's cheeks darkened as he cooled down just as easily as he'd worked himself up. "Sorry. Sorry, I know. Thanks."

Waving a hand vaguely toward the children, Aziraphale sighed. "Reckon we should probably say goodbye."

Crowley nodded in agreement, already making his way across the room. The sooner it was over, the better. Adam turned to look at them well before he should have been able to know they were coming, his eyes instantly zeroing in on the two headed his way.

"It's been a pleasure," the demon said through his teeth, forcing a smile. The kids gave him the most withering collective stare he'd ever received, and he adjusted his glasses, pulled at his sleeve nervously. "Real… pleasure. Thanks for the invite."

"Yes, it's a splendid event," Aziraphale jumped in to save him, wrapping a hand around his arm and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We've quite enjoyed ourselves, and we're very happy for you. May you be like a tree planted by waters, sending forth its roots by a stream."

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses. Aziraphale noticed, but chose not to say anything, because it only meant he was feeling more himself, and that was a good thing, ostensibly. 

"Thanks for coming," Adam chirped brightly. "Sorry we didn't get to talk more."

"We didn't – that wasn't enough for you?" Crowley sputtered. "You talked for ages."

"Yeah, with you," Brian said. "Not _ him. _ Bet he's got at least a few stories that aren't about old books."

Aziraphale gave a small, chagrined smile. "Perhaps a few," he admitted.

"You got any dirt on him?" Brian asked, jerking his head toward Crowley with a mischievous grin. "He's all secretive. Wouldn't tell us anything fun."

"Wouldn't tell you about my personal and private life," Crowley objected. "A decision which I stand by. Anyway, Aziraphale does not have any _ dirt _ on me, I can tell you that."

Aziraphale tilted his head quizzically. "Are you sure?"

Crowley blinked at him, floundering with his mouth open for a long moment before words came to him. "Pretty sure, yeah. Don't think you even remember half the things I tell you."

"I wouldn't be so quick to say that," the angel replied quietly, his tone indecipherable. 

Crowley wrinkled his brow deep enough to push his glasses down the bridge of his nose a bit. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Aziraphale reassured him. "Just… you're not as mysterious as you pretend to be. In fact, you're fairly easy to read."

"I'm plenty mysterious," Crowley objected petulantly. "People don't read me. I read people."

“I see,” said the angel sagely. "And you're including me in your estimation of people?"

"What?" Crowley wrinkled his brow at the angel. "Yeah, I am."

Giving the demon a placating smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, Aziraphale patted his arm gently. "If you say so, dear."

"Now, what's _ that _ supposed to mean?"

Pepper snickered. To her credit, she tried to stifle it, but it was difficult to maintain composure when Crowley folded his arms across his chest and glowered at the angel, looking for all the world like a child who was unaccustomed to not getting his way. Brian breathed a small chuckle as well, upon noting that Crowley was biting his lip nervously even as he tried to appear put out. It was the first time in his life that Brian had ever felt more mature than anybody.

Turning his head slightly at the sounds of the children's amusement, Aziraphale grimaced. "Let's not talk about it here. We should be getting along."

Crowley scoffed, shaking his head. "Sure, angel. Get me to a secondary location so you can avoid the subject some more."

"I just don't think that right now is the best time for this discussion –"

"The best time for _ what _discussion?" Crowley ran a hand through his hair, unheeding or uncaring of the fact that he was shouting now. "I don't even know what we're talking about!"

"Honestly," Aziraphale murmured, giving him a look that bordered on pitying. "At this point it's predominantly a discussion of the astounding thickness of your skull."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, quite. You're being magnificently obtuse."

Crowley snorted derisively at him. "Right. Well. We'd better get going." He turned abruptly and made for the door, adding, "Might take my dull brain a while to figure out how to start the car."

Aziraphale followed, giving the children one last apologetic look and a sheepish wave before he was gone.

The car ride was silent for several long minutes, Crowley stewing in his wounded feelings, Aziraphale attempting to puzzle out the best way to bring it up again, to clarify, to make amends. Eventually, he steeled himself, took a deep breath, and spoke.

"Crowley, I…” he said, and then trailed off, unsure where to go from there. Aziraphale was not one to fly by the seat of his pants, but if he waited any longer to figure out the precise wording and intonation, he'd talk himself out of opening his mouth at all. "Crowley, I don't think you're stupid."

Crowley's fingers tightened on the wheel, his jaw tensed, but he showed no other sign of having heard the angel's words. The quiet was painful, like the air was stretched taut across the space between them, and then the demon let out a long breath. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Aziraphale laughed, soft and almost indiscernible over the rumble of the Bentley’s engine. “I didn’t mean all that,” he murmured gently. “You’re not stupid. You’re – frustrating, is all. And I think… a bit dishonest, sometimes.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to cast stones on either count, angel.”

“Perhaps not,” the angel replied, “but I’m not _ trying _to cast stones. I’m trying to talk to you.”

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Crowley finally turned to look at him, his eyebrows raised expectantly. “Alright, I’m listening.”

In an unexpected and sudden moment of courage, Aziraphale reached out and touched him – briefly, and only for practical reasons, of course. He pressed his fingers against the curve of Crowley’s jaw, felt his muscles tighten under the touch, heard his breath hitch, and then he pushed gently, turning Crowley’s head to face forward.

“Eyes on the road,” he murmured warmly, smiling at the way Crowley’s mouth hung open. “Now is not a good time to be discorporated.”

Crowley sniffed indignantly, but did as he was told, eyes remaining steadfastly forward, lips pressing together into a thin line.

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Aziraphale repeated, grounding himself in what he wanted to say. “I only said so because… well, because you're rather oblivious. But," he added quickly, before Crowley could get defensive, "it was rude of me, and I am sorry."

There was a short pause wherein Crowley sucked a breath in through his teeth, his jaw tensed almost painfully. "In what sense am I oblivious?" he asked, slow and deliberate.

Aziraphale bit his lip a touch too hard, hissing at the sharp pain, and then shook his head free of the distraction. He took a deep breath, glancing nervously at the demon, and spoke in a rush. "You seem to be under the impression that I don't – that I don't pay attention, maybe? Or that I don't enjoy your company? I can assure you that I do."

"I've absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Crowley replied, his voice low and even in a concerted effort to hide his emotions.

"I'm talking about you thinking I don't know things about you. Thinking I don't remember things." Aziraphale's face began to heat up from frustration, and he pulled at his shirtsleeve as he continued. "It just seems that you don't think I care for you, and… well, I don't think you're stupid, not _ really, _ but you must be at least a _ little _ bit thick if you can't see that I love you."

Crowley choked, slamming on the brakes to avoid swerving the Bentley into a ditch. A bad time for discorporation, indeed. He didn’t bother with regaining his breath or his presence of mind before spitting out a strained _ “Excuse me?” _

“I don’t see why you’re so worked up about it,” the angel replied, sounding almost irritated by Crowley’s reaction. 

Evening out the pattern of his breathing at last, Crowley maneuvered the car off the road and parked it before turning to face Aziraphale. “I’m getting whiplash, angel, that’s why I’m so bloody worked up about it. One minute you’re basically listing all my flaws, and the next you decide to throw _ that _ at me? While I’m _ driving?” _

Aziraphale frowned deeply, biting his lip. “I don’t want to upset you,” he said guiltily. “I just want you to understand.”

“Understand what, exactly?”

“If I say it again, are you going to react better?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Is that an ultimatum?”

“No,” Aziraphale replied smoothly, “it’s an honest question.”

Deflating slightly, Crowley paused to consider it for a moment before shutting his mouth tightly and nodding his head. “Yeah, I think.”

“Alright,” the angel said, wary but hopeful. He looked deep into Crowley’s eyes, placed a gentle hand on the demon’s knee, and repeated, “I love you, Crowley.”

“You fucking _ what?” _

Aziraphale flung his hands up in the air, exasperated. “You said you would react better!” 

“Sorry!” Crowley’s voice pitched up as he jumped to his own defense. “I said I _ think! _ It’s been a long day, alright?”

“Well, could you try to get it together, please?” the angel beseeched, his eyes wide and pathetic in their pleading. “This is a bit nerve-wracking for me, and your shouting isn’t helpful.”

Crowley took a deep breath in through his nose, closing his eyes and attempting to process the turn in the conversation. Parsing the path they had taken to reach this most recent development was like trying to see through muddy waters, like trying to remember a dream. He had been driving, they had been talking – or were they arguing? He couldn’t quite figure out what to call it – and Aziraphale was being cryptic, he was making no sense at all, and then suddenly he was telling Crowley he loved him.

Aziraphale loved him? He tested out the sentence in his mind. It felt wrong, it felt like a lie, like something he would tell himself on lonely nights when getting lost in fantastical dreams was the only thing that kept him going. But he was definitely here in the Bentley with Aziraphale, and it was definitely something that had come out of the angel’s mouth. Twice.

Aziraphale _ loved _him.

“Oh,” Crowley breathed softly. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, looking properly at the angel with wide eyes. “Sorry. Erm. I love you, too. You knew that, right?”

“I suppose I had an inkling,” Aziraphale replied fondly. “But it’s good to hear, nevertheless.”

“I’ll tell you a million times, if you want,” Crowley said, nearly frantic in his fervor. “I love you, angel, I do, and I'm sorry I've been so – so – so bloody stupid.”

Aziraphale exhaled slowly, his eyes fixed on the demon’s face. “For clarity’s sake, I do mean I’m in love with you,” he said casually, gauging Crowley’s reaction closely. “In the sense that I would very much like to kiss you. Is that acceptable?”

Crowley sputtered wordlessly for several moments, staring at the angel with wide eyes, eking out a few strained syllables before he remembered how to speak. "Is it – fuck's sake, Aziraphale, is it _ acceptable?" _

His composure belying the nerves fizzling in his gut, the angel bit his lip, drawing in a shaky breath. "That is what I asked, yes," he said, his voice low and soft as he met Crowley’s eyes with his own uncertain gaze. 

“I – you’re – and the – I mean, _ yeah,” _ Crowley replied, baffled and overwhelmed and still not entirely convinced he wasn’t dreaming.

Aziraphale’s expression shifted instantly, his eyes sparkling, his lips parting in a surprised little smile. “Really? Oh, Crowley, I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you said that. I was worried, you know, because –”

“Aziraphale.”

“Yes?” The angel blinked, pulled abruptly from his train of thought.

Crowley leaned in close, until his face was only inches from Aziraphale’s, just far enough that they could still actually look each other in the eyes. “If you don’t do it, I will,” he said simply.

Before the last syllable had rolled off the demon’s tongue, Aziraphale dove in and kissed Crowley with a shocking force, practically knocking the wind out of him. Once he was past what little uncertainty he had felt, the angel was passionate, determined, unabashed. He shifted slightly for better access before lifting his hands to cup Crowley’s cheeks, cradling the demon’s face in his warm and gentle hold, eliciting a small gasp of delight from him.

Distracted by Aziraphale’s hands, smiling broadly against the angel’s lips, Crowley rather lost track of his technique along the way, and when Aziraphale moved, he fumbled in trying to move with him, accidentally biting the angel’s tongue. Aziraphale pulled back with a short yelp, hands dropping from the demon’s face. 

Crowley tried his level best not to scream at his own clumsiness. “Shit, angel, fuck, I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, torn between wanting to comfort the angel and wanting to recoil to avoid hurting him again.

It took a moment, thanks in large part to Aziraphale’s hands now covering his mouth, but eventually it dawned on Crowley that the angel was laughing. His shoulders shook, his cheeks were round and bright, his eyes warm and free of malice. Crowley moved tentatively to take his hands, and Aziraphale gave them freely, revealing his smile as their clasped hands were lowered.

“It’s alright, dearest," the angel soothed, and if the sheer joy on his face didn’t kill him yet, the endearment made Crowley's heart stop entirely. "It's alright, I know. Let’s go home.”

After a long moment of dumbstruck, mortified staring, Crowley leveled a cheeky smile at him, all teeth, and started the car again. “Your place or mine?”

“Well, the bookshop is apparently our shared address,” Aziraphale teased. "Where our joint mail is sent."

“The bookshop it is, then,” Crowley replied, shaking his head with a huff of a laugh. “Those kids are too smart for their own good.”

As Crowley began driving, the angel’s hand found its way into his hair of its own accord, fingers toying with the slight curl at the nape of the demon’s neck, warmth seeping into Crowley’s skin from his broad palm. It was simultaneously something entirely new and terrifying and the most natural thing in the world. 

Crowley supposed, in spite of himself, that he had Adam Young to thank for this, possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him. If they hadn’t gone to his ridiculous bar mitzvah, if the children hadn’t forced him to face the feelings he’d long been ignoring, if they hadn’t danced together – but they had, and it was surreal to think that it was the antichrist’s coming of age that pushed them over the precarious cliff upon which they’d perched their fragile friendship. And it was silly, it was _ cheesy, _ but Crowley couldn’t help thinking, as he got used to the idea of casual touches and kisses and de facto cohabitation and the possibility of so much more, that maybe he was becoming a new kind of person, too.


End file.
